


Swords and Shields

by Corelda



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 20:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4800530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corelda/pseuds/Corelda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>During a trip to the Storm Coast, Cassandra Pentaghast discovers she and the Herald of Andraste share a common taste in literature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swords and Shields

Cassandra is trying her best, but Maker’s breath, it’s so hard sometimes she even wonders why she keeps at it. _Because you love his books_ , she tells herself, _and while reading The Tale of the Champion, you wished you could be friend with Hawke, and him, and the others too._ So she squares her jaw, takes a deep breath and attempts to mend the rift between her and Varric Tethras again…

“By the way, I tend to refer to my "associates" as "friends." Maybe you're not familiar with the concept.”

It takes her all her self-control – and she has so little of it! – to stop herself from punching him in the face so that smug smile of his would disappear. She manages to let out a heavy sigh instead but the moment they set the camp, she’ll have to find a tree to punch. Hard. Very hard. So hard the pain will prevent her from thinking of Galyan, of the Divine, of those people she knew and cared for and who were killed when the Breach opened. Her _friends_. As they walk on, she catches Cadash’s glance upon her; there is concern in his eyes.

As planned, the first thing she does when the Herald announces they’ll set the camp up is to excuse herself and to go looking for that tree. After a walk along the shore of the Storm Coast she finds it; it’s standing by a river, tall and proud. Cassandra removes her glove, takes a deep breath and punches the trunk. The rough bark causes her knuckles to split and bleed, but she doesn’t care. She hits the tree again, and again, and again.

“You are going to break your knuckles if you keep doing that, my lady.”

Cadash’s voice is soft and kind and washes over Cassandra, bringing a sense of gentle comfort; the pain in her heart lessens as she turns around to face him. He’s standing a few steps away, his head slightly tilted as he looks at her, the earlier concern still present in his eyes.

“Herald,” she greets him with a nod. “What are you doing here?”

“One dwarf can only eat so much salt beef before he craves for something else,” Cadash explains, “so I was thinking about trying my hand at fishing.” He shows her the bucket he’s holding and something jingles inside. Hooks, likely. “But mostly, I wanted to check on you.”

Cass nods again. She brings her hand to her mouth and sucks the blood from her knuckles before spitting it out. With his free hand, Cadash rummages in a pocket and takes out a handkerchief he hands to her.

“It’s clean. Mostly,” he mutters awkwardly as she spots a stain on the fabric.

“Thank you, Cadash,” Cassandra answers. A hesitant smile comes to her lips as she takes the piece of cloth and wraps it around her hand. “Thank you,” she repeats and it strikes her like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky – when is the last time someone else than the Herald has done something as simple yet so nice as this for her? It seems every bits of kindness she gets those days are from him, even more since Redcliff. And Cass quietly thanks the Maker, for she has yet to forget the dread and the helplessness she felt while he was sucked into Alexius’ green vortex.

But Cadash is here, Cadash is safe and Cadash shuffles his feet. “You’re welcome.” He looks down at his bucket, then up to meet her eyes. The tips of his ears have turned red. “I was wondering, do you want to give me a hand?” he offers eventually. “This way we could talk.”

Another smile stretches her lips, this time with no hesitation at all. “Of course. One woman can only eat so much salt beef before she craves for something else, too.”

Cadash lets out a low chuckle and they head together to the river. They go up for a while until they find a water hole far enough from the sea, with a big rock close by to sit on. Cadash puts down the bucket and takes a fishing line, a hook and a loaf of bread out of it.

“Bread?” Cassandra arches an eyebrow. “Does bread really attract fish?”

“It’ll have to do,” the dwarf answers. “Unless my lady is willing to dig for some worms right away?” he adds with a playful grin.

The simple thought of worms, all gooey and slimy, sends a shiver downs her spin. “Bread will do,” she mutters, and Cadash snorts. He tears the bread apart then rolls some of it into small balls. One of them he spears the hook through, which he fastens to the line. One moment later, he throws the hook and bait into the water then sits on the rock. “How long will it take?” Cass asks as she joins him. They don’t have all night; the Inquisition scouts have mentioned numerous bears living in the area in their reports. The two of them alone cannot hope to defeat of those beasts, and losing the Herald of Andraste to a bear’s stomach while the Breach is still there isn’t an option.

“It’s up to the fish,” the Herald answers. “Too bad we ran out of cheese yesterday; I could have used some to make the bait a little more appetizing.”

“Bread and cheese? Are you sure your fish aren’t Orlesian?”

The quip makes Cadash laughs. “Orlesian or Fereldan, they’ll be delicious all the same, if we manage to catch some.” He sighs longingly. “Think about this, my lady: with enough catch we could make a soup from the heads. It would shake the cold out of our bones.”

Cass finds herself sighing dreamily as well. It hasn’t rained today but the weather on the coast is still humid and chilling; a soup would be perfect. Another thought immediately follows though, one far less pleasant. “And who will empty the fish guts out?”

“Either Varric or Dorian, I suppose?” Cadash offers after a moment of silence. “Your hand is hurt and catching the food will count as my part of the chores.”

“They will complain,” Cassandra points out, even though there is something weirdly entertaining in imagining those two preparing the dinner.

“They will for sure,” the dwarf nods. The grin is back on his lips, and Cass knows he’s been thinking the same she just did.

They remain silent for a moment, Cadash tugging on his line in an attempt to lure fish into swallowing the hook and Cass looking as he does. It’s her who breaks the quietness eventually. “Varric is still angry at me for what happened in Kirkwall,” she explains. Strangely, simply saying those words out loud removes a weight from her chest.

“What happened in Kirkwall?” A beat. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Cadash adds with some hesitation, but Cass shakes her head; she needs to tell someone, and she trusts him not to judge her harsher than necessary. It is one of the many things she has learned about him during their weeks of travelling together: Fjalar Cadash is intelligent, kind, funny, courteous, fair-minded and at times annoying enough for her to want to strangle him on the spot.

“Leliana and I were sent by Most Holy to interrogate him about Hawke and about what had happened with Anders.” Cassandra looks down at her bandaged hand; there are dots of blood on the fabric. “And so I listened to his tale for hours. But first I threw a copy of The Tale of the Champion to his face and stabbed a dagger through it.” Her throat tightens and her heart aches at the memory. What a disastrous way to meet her favorite author. No mention that book was actually a first-edition printing.

Cadash is frowning now. “Why did you do that, exactly?”

“It was to set the scene,” she explains in a low voice. “After such an introduction surely the dwarf would understand it was best for him to unload the truth, or so I thought. It didn’t go as smoothly as I expected, as you surely can imagine: I caught him lying to me numerous times – when I pointed it out, he hardly apologized and just went on so I had to rein him in more often than not. However I assure you that I took no sadistic pleasure in leading this interrogation, despite Varric’s claims.”

“I believe you.” The dwarf tugs on the line again. “Though I also understand his anger: the first time we met, I was handcuffed and you tried to punch me in the face.”

Cassandra creases her nose and heaves a sigh. “Yes, indeed I did.” She was so angry back then; reports kept coming from the top of the mountain, all mentioning the same things: the temple had been destroyed and there were no survivors. Yet she had prayed the Maker for a miracle, for the sake of both Justinia and Galyan (“I cannot wait for the Rebellion to be over,” he had written in his last letter, “and I cannot wait to see you again. We’ll meet in Haven. Take care, my dearest friend.”), until the news had reached both her and Leliana: someone alive had been found staggering out of a rift. But instead of Most Holy or Regalyan D’Marcall, it was some unknown dwarf. _Actually I did not just want to punch you in the face_ , Cass corrects herself as she gazes at him, at his eyelashes so long they would make any woman jealous, _for a moment_ _I wanted to kill you myself for the false hopes the news of your survival had given me. How things have changed since._

“But here we are, sitting together on a rock, waiting for our dinner to bite at the hook,” the now familiar dwarf goes on. “We are on good terms, despite this rocky beginning. So Varric’s anger may be legitimate, but nothing prevents him from overcoming it like I did – or more exactly, like we both did.”

She nods at his words and another weight is lifted from her. The fishing line tightens at this very moment and a victory cry comes out of the Herald’s mouth. With swift, sure moves he brings the catch back; a fish the length of her hand is wriggling on the hook. “Cassandra, could you—“ Cadash begins, but she has caught the bucket and fills it with water already. Carefully he pulls the hook out and put the fish in the bucket. “I knew bread would make an excellent bait,” he gloats with a look of smug satisfaction. Cass lets out a disgusted sound in return, but a smile softens her expression.

“Yes, yes, well done.”

“Would you like to try?”

The idea of her with a fishing line is so ludicrous, she almost laughs. Yet it also has an inexplicable appeal and Cassandra finds herself nodding before she knows it. “Sure. But _you_ make the bait.”

Cadash grins and complies and Cass has her line ready in no times. As she throws the hook back into the water, the dwarf kneels to wash his hands; once he’s done, he sits back beside her and takes out his pipe and a pouch from one of his coat’s inner pockets. A deep, heady smell surrounds them as he lights the pipe, and soon he’s trying to blow perfect smoke rings. Cassandra watches him from the corner of an eye while keeping the other on the line, but the water is still.

“Maybe I should have actually left Leliana question Varric,” she speaks up again after a moment, bringing back the previous topic. “She had some interesting ideas for making him speak.”

Cadash snorts some smoke out of his nose. “Let me guess, they involved some rats in a burning box?”

“Well, not _all_ of them.”

“Oh, you’re terrible!” He bursts out into another laugh.

“Look who’s talking,” Cass counters with as much as dignity she can muster, but it simply fuels his delight and she shakes her head while rolling her eyes to hide her own mirth. “Keep being noisy and you’ll put the fish off,” she adds in a matter-of-factly way.

The Herald tries to calm himself and takes deep breathes, even though his shoulders are still jolting. “Still, next time Varric complains about your methods, you should remind him that at least he’s still alive with his digits intact, if not his dignity,” he croaks. “It would have been a shame to lose such a prolific author.” He looks at her, his eyes bright still. “Have you read his other books?”

A wave of cold warmth washes over Cass. “I’ve given some of them a try,” she answers, attempting to be as elusive as possible, “in case they would contain clues about Hawke’s whereabouts.”

“Did they?”

“No they didn’t and I gave up on _Hard in Hightown_ at chapter three.” He throws her a dubitative look and she narrows her eyes defensively. “I saw where the story was leading and it was of no interest for me!” she protests vehemently. “The mysteries, the investigations, I dealt with such things on a daily basis as a Seeker of Truth! I did not need more of them during my spare time!” It is not _entirely_ the truth, but it apparently is satisfying enough for Cadash.

”It was filled with mysteries and investigations for sure. Never before had I felt so bad for a guardsman.” He frowns briefly then smiles. “Myself I first discovered Varric’s work with _The Viper’s Nest_. It really was a good book.”

That makes her stare at him with awe. “I thought copies of _The Viper’s Nest_ were almost impossible to find!”

Cadash sniggers – actually s _niggers_ – then puffs on his pipe. “Ah, yes, the infamous ‘distribution problems’. Listen, my lady: Varric stepped on a few toes when he wrote that book, and this is a polite euphemism for he managed to piss off both the Merchants Guild – Kalna and Ascendant families alike, which in itself is already an achievement – _and_ the Carta. So they retributed by destroying most of the copies.”

“But you own one of them?” Cassandra asks, excitement rising within her.

“Yes, my sister salvaged a copy during a raid on a warehouse; she’s always had a fondness for books and reading. It passed to me when she left home. I think it’s still in Ostwick.”

“Oh.” The word, filled with disappointment, escapes her lips before she realizes it. Cadash cocks an eyebrow and she looks back at the line. “I thought that maybe you had taken it with you,” she explains meekly.

“So you could have read it in case it included more clues about Hawke’s whereabouts, of course.” She answers nothing but slaps the back of his head with her good hand; Cadash rubs the injured spot with a highly offended expression which does nothing to conceal his amusement. “Did you just _hit_ the Herald of Andraste?”

“And I will do it you again if you keep being a smartass,” she warns him.

The way he’s looking at her, she can see he’s actually _considering_ it and she squares her jaw in return, daring him to do so. But he puffs on his pipe instead and blows a new ring, the corners of his mouth still uplifted. “Please forgive me, my lady. I should not tease you, for I know all too well the feeling of pinning for elusive books myself.”

“Do you?” She tilts her head, her curiosity piqued. Coming from the dwarf who owns a copy of _The Viper’s Nest_ , this is hard to believe.

“Of course I do! I’ve been looking for the whole series of _Swords and Shields_ for months now. I’ve bought the first book during a business trip to Kirkwall last year, but the sales of the following volumes were so mediocre it’s hard to find them in bookstore anymore. I hate being caught on a cliffhanger,” he laments.

For a moment Cass isn’t sure she has heard correctly. Or isn’t sure she should allow herself to believe she has heard correctly. She again feels hot and cold at the same time and her heart must have skipped a beat too, because now it’s racing to catch up and it makes her face flush. Thankfully, the Maker really has a perfect sense of timing: the line starts to shake between her hands, putting an effective end to the discussion.

They eventually return to the camp by twilight with their catch. The soup they made is thin but warm, and it is with a belly full that Cass collapses on her bedroll; Dorian has offered to take first watch, explaining he can’t sleep with his hands reeking of fish guts, and for once she’s glad to step aside. Listening to the surf breaking on the beach in the distance, Cass closes her eyes; holding her now properly bandaged hand close to her heart, she falls asleep with a discreet smile on her face.

Despite Varric’s best attempts to be unbearable the next day, Cassandra’s excellent mood doesn’t waver and the dwarf stares at her like her hair are on fire for most of the day. But she doesn’t care; the warmth in her chest lingers until the walls of Haven are finally in sight two weeks later. Tethras goes his own way at soon as they reach the doors, muttering about things to write down before he forgets about them, and Dorian follows soon after, complaining about how he needs a bath to remove the smell of wet dog from his hair.

“I should do the same,” Cadash laughs as they watch the mage walking away. “I used to think that people complaining about how Ferelden stinks of mutts were exaggerating, but they were true all along.” He looks up at her and the expression on his face turns solemn. “We’ll have to plan the closure of the Breach soon,” he says. His voice is composed and even – or at least it tries to be, for it shakes slightly. The prospect to close the Breach at last, Cass guesses.

She nods slowly and puts a hand on his shoulder; he trembles at her touch. “I’ll have to talk with Cullen and Solas, but our current stock of lyrium should be enough for the mages to increase the power of your mark. All we need is for them to be ready to cast the spell.”

“And they are so thrilled to help us, they cannot wait of course.” A wry smile comes to his lips, and Cass can’t help but snorts. “But this discussion is for another time; it was a long trip and I should let you rest.”

Cass doesn’t feel tired, not really, but she nods all the same. “I’ll see you tomorrow for our sparring session. Rest well, Herald.”

“You too, my lady.” One last smile and he’s gone. Cassandra watches him walk through the gates then heads to her own tent, nodding at the soldiers she meets on the way. The moment the flap folds down behind her and she’s finally alone, a shaking breath passes through her lips. She reaches for her stash of books and rummages through until she finds the second volume of Swords and Shields. The book is dog-eared and worn from use, its cover creased and stained; Cass clutches it to her chest. Only a few people knows this about her, that reading is one of her favorite pastime, and even less knows of her love for romantic literature. Galyan did, of course, but he had found out long after they were no longer an item and he had teased her mercilessly; the memory makes the pain of his death searing once again and her eyes water. The sadness will pass, Cass tells herself, and will turn into sweet memories as it did for Anthony and Byron, so she pushes the tears back and opens the book instead, browsing through the pages in search of her favorite passages. She hopes Cadash will like them too.

She reads for a while, until it gets difficult to see the letters; by lifting the flop slightly, Cass notices twilight has come. _This is the time_. She gets out of her tent, the book pressed under her arm, and heads for the doors. Cullen is gone and the Iron Bull and his Chargers are nowhere to be seen, so no one dares to call out to her; for a moment also she’s worried she’ll bump into Varric on his way to Flisa’s tavern, but she spots his red shirt by his tent in the distance – thankfully, Cadash’s house is situated on the left right after the gates, so she’ll stay far away from him.

Finally she faces the closed door. Apprehension clings to her heart as she raises her fist to knock – Cadash has never _explicitly_ said he enjoys _Swords and Shields_ , has he? – but Cassandra Pentaghast is a warrior, a fighter to her bones; running away is never an option for her. The blows on the door are short and dry, and for an excruciating moment no answers come from the other side. Then Cass catches the sounds of water lapping, and she remembers Cadash’s comment about getting a bath; a warm flush creeps to her cheeks, but already she can hear the rustle of clothes and from the other side Cadash’s voice raises: “Coming!”

Footsteps get closer and the door finally opens. The Herald stands there in his trousers, his hair and beard still wet and dripping, and for an instant Cass forgets why she’s here as she drinks the sight of him in. His torso is muscular and covered with light hair, his shoulders are broad, his arms strong and his stomach flat and hard; Cass’ mouth goes dry and her pulse races. _Maker’s breath, he’s handsome_. How has she not noticed before?

“My lady, what are you doing here? Is there something the matter? ” Cadash asks, surprise written all over his face, and Cass bites her inner cheek.

“I apologize for disturbing you, Herald, but there is something I wanted to give you.” How she manages to get her voice under control she doesn’t know, but thanks the Maker for it anyway.

“Oh.” Cadash frowns for a moment, then his eyes lighten and he moves from the doorway. “Please come in, my lady, don’t stay at the door.”

“I do not intend to stay longer than necessary,” Cass announces as she steps inside, closing the wood panel quietly behind her.

“I wouldn’t mind actually,” Cadash laughs, “I hardly get guests. Adan pays me a visit every now and then for a check-up, but the old bear never stays long either: he doesn’t want anyone to start believing he’s _actually_ the nurturing type.” He rolls his eyes with a grin before turning around, and Cass feels her mouth drying again: his back is muscled and toned like the rest, but it is also covered in thin, faded scars. She wonders how he got them, and for a moment her fingertips tingle to reach out and graze one of them, until Cadash grabs a shirt he puts on and walks to the hearth. “Would you like some tea? Or biscuits?”

“Nothing for me, thank you.” She really doesn’t want to stay longer than necessary. The event has taken an unexpected turn and the sharp disappointment she has just felt due to that shirt is alarming. _Just because you have seen him bare-chested…what are you, Cassandra? Some kind of cat in heat? Behave yourself!_ “As I mentioned earlier, there is something I want to give you.” She walks around the still-fuming tub and hands him the precious book. Cadahs’s eyes grow wide as he studies the cover.

“Is that…?”

“Let me know when you’ll be done reading it,” she adds with a nod, “and I’ll give you the next ones.”

Cadash shoots both eyebrows up, and a mix of hope and excitement is lacing his voice when he speaks again: “Do you own the _whole_ series?”

“I do,” Cassandra answers. She’s feeling somewhat lightheaded. “Do not tell anyone else about this,” she adds a bit more firmly, “especially Varric.” _Do not betray the trust I just put in you._

Cadash nods, his face both solemn and caring. “I won’t, I promise. It’ll be our secret.” The prospect seems to delight him actually, and he strokes the runes on the cover. “Thank you, my lady. It means a lot. Actually, when I first mentioned Swords and Shields, I expected you to laugh in my face.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you about my books on the spot,” Cassandra admits, “I was afraid you would laugh too.”

“You, afraid?” Cadash’s teasing smile is back on his lips, and Cass lets out a disgusted noise. They’re back into their usual dynamic, so she firmly pushes away her improper feelings from earlier.

“Only for a moment. And don’t try to be a smartass, or I’ll spoil you the end of the book.” The horror on his face is the most hilarious sight ever, and she smiles. It feels so good to have finally found someone to share that passion of hers with. Once he has caught up, they’ll be free to discuss the plot and the characters to their hearts’ content – there is so much Cass wants to talk about. “I will let you start you reading now. Have a good night, Cadash.”

“Have a good night, my lady.” The smiles he gives her as she leaves is the most brilliant she has ever seen, and it still flashes in front of her eyes when she goes to bed hours later.


End file.
